


Star Crossed

by Amethystawakening



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Autistic Character, Demisexual Character, Denial, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventually family feels, Falling In Love, Future Fic, Gotham TV series/Batman comic hybrid, Implied Sexual Content, Internalized Homophobia, Love Confessions, M/M, Mental Instability, Obsession, Relationship Study, Repressed Emotions, Slow Burn, Unreliable Narrator, implications of stalking, misinterpretation of emotions, prose poetry, self discovery, sequential/fractured narrative style, violent imagery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-09
Updated: 2018-04-09
Packaged: 2019-03-21 09:17:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 17,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13737789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amethystawakening/pseuds/Amethystawakening
Summary: He could connect the dots in the stars of events that had brought him here. All cosmically life changing. All leading him here again and again, to Oswald Cobblepot.Falling in love is never easy, especially when love has given you battle scars.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For best results, click entire work and read it all at once.
> 
> [Unreliable Narrator](http://narrative.georgetown.edu/wiki/index.php/Unreliable_narrator): an unreliable narrator typically displays characteristics or tendencies that indicate a lack of credibility or understanding of the story. Whether due to age, mental disability or personal involvement, an unreliable narrator provides the reader with either incomplete or inaccurate information as a result of these conditions.

Edward Nygma had held many people’s fates in his hands. He had balanced people’s lives on the tips of his fingers, plucked their minds apart stitch by intricate stitch.

He held many people’s fates in his hands, but never his own.

 

The heavens had swept him up into its glorious grasp. Pulling, pushing and drowning him like a riptide.

He could connect the dots in the stars of events that had brought him here. All cosmically life changing. All leading him here again and again, to Oswald Cobblepot.

It seemed like the universe would not let it rest, this old feud of theirs, dwindled down to be lit again, like a forest fire. 

 

Their connection was so sublime, it was beyond human measure. Written in the heavens, tangled amongst the catacombs of black holes and supernovas,  _an archaic_   _destiny_.

    

_Star crossed._

 

Ed first sees him again in the basement of an abandoned warehouse, amidst the chatter of the many attendants. Harley Quinn is giggling fiercely over some inside joke with Poison Ivy. The Joker is so involved in hearing himself talk that he seems to have forgotten why he called all of them here in the first place. Mr. Freeze is the humored victim tonight, trapped in an endless one-sided conversation of jokes and self-praise.

Oswald stands tall at 5’6 in a crowd of giants. His feathered collar sits elegantly against his shoulders. A long black cigarette holder is perched firmly between his lips. He seems to age as gracefully as the old-world wine he is so fond of. Martin stands beside him, his glare deadlier than any of the bullets in his Glock 19. Oswald gazes at Martin fondly, eyes holding all the love he once had for Ed, refashioned and polished into a familial form.

 

Their gazes meet and an electric current runs through the building, bristling and cracking with violent energy. It's been nearly a year.

 

Oswald's eyes were churning, green like the sea, full of life and specks of color while hiding great secrets in their dark depths. He smirks at Ed, eyes looking straight into his as if they could reach into his soul. He dismisses the glance just as quickly, tapping the ash from his cigarette and continuing his conversation with Martin.

 

Ed feels something turn inside him. Something deep and perturbing that he can't explain. Query’s groan of agitation brings him back to reality.

 

Edward does not sleep that night.

 

* * *

 

 

 

A gilded invitation to the Iceberg Lounge falls into his hands two weeks later. He trashes it and gets back to work. The city isn't going to plant a web of interconnected bio-bombs itself.

 

He finds himself in one of his best hunter green suits, stirring at cocktail, at the back bar of the Iceberg Lounge, just a week after.

 

Ed observes the vases of lilies, over-the-top ice sculptures and hostesses dressed in little tuxedo rompers that almost resemble a penguin’s coloring. He catalogs every detail, sorting out which ones were and were not drawn up by Oswald.

 

He scans the room for Oswald, the Penguin himself, half expecting him to saunter down to the bar just to patronize him. It was a routine part of their little game. The constant orbit between them. Looping closer and then farther just to return to the same place once again.

Ed was more than delighted to play.

 

But there is no sight of Oswald.

 

He recalls that just a year ago Oswald had poured a martini over his head in this exact spot, for ruining one of his illustrious events.

Several months later, the Lounge was infested with pigeons. A little bit of retribution for when Oswald assisted Poison Ivy in hustling him out of $10,000 worth of valuable plant toxin.

 

Ed finally spotted the man of the night; dressed in one of his finely tailored suits, hair perfectly flipped back and combed into place.

Elegant, as usual. Anyone who didn't know better, could not have possibly imagined this man to be a cold-blooded killer.

 

Oswald's gloved hand was placed on Poison Ivy’s shoulder as the pair gossiped fondly. Ed knew that the two of them had a falling out in the past, but it seems that they had fallen into each other’s paths again.

_Oswald had that effect on people._

 

Watching carefully out of the corner of his eye, Ed let the absinthe sink into his blood. He would not give Oswald the privilege of first glance. He had once been golden, gleaming, the sun in Ed’s universe. Possessing his every thought and attention. He had long since lost that right. Fallen from the heavens to crumble to ash. A ghost of who he once was in the macrocosm of Ed’s mind.

 

Ed would wait. Oswald would come to him.  _He always did._

 

To Ed’s dismay Oswald had not regarded him in the slightest. The night was busy. There were many guests to entertain and the King of Gotham had moved from person to person to converse with a great lot of them. While Ed had spent a lovely minute harassing the dull guests at the bar with a string of sickening riddles.

Oswald was too occupied at the moment. He was just being a good host. It was impossible that he was ignoring him. Ed was the sweet poison, the gamble. The game that was too tempting to quit.

And in turn, Ed himself, had been sucked into the thrill of it all. The delicious satisfaction of the hunt.

 

Oswald may not have noticed him but someone else had. Eyes locked like a predator, claws out and teeth bared. Ed found himself in the direct line of sight of Martin Cobblepot.

If looks could kill there would be bullet in his heart.

Ed awarded the boy the magnificent prize of one gleaming sneer. He could care less about the bystanders in their feud. Oswald was the only one that mattered.

 

They were dangerously close now, only a few feet away, as Oswald made idle chatter with Two Face, wearing his best tailored faux-grin.

It was a matter of moments before the Penguin was standing before him, face unnerving placid. He took a short drag of his cigarette, fumes rising wistfully from his lips like a ballerina dancing in air. As if Oswald had the incapability to be anything but  _opulent_.

 

“Riddler. I would say I am surprised. But I’m not.” A little nonchalant shrug seemed too anticlimactic for this moment.

But the game had just begun.

 

Ed smiled, eyes glittering with menace. “Why is that?” Laugh teetering at the edge of his words.

 

“You’ve always been a creature of habit.” Oswald held the cigarette between his thumb and his forefinger and took another drag.

 

Something was off today. The dullness in Oswald’s eyes was haunting. No longer a swirling sea of green. No more than a murky greyed puddle.

 

_This was not Oswald_. Ed knew Oswald inside out and upside down. From newspaper clippings, police character sketches, photos of him left in his mother's house. From lingering touches, shared whispers, memories buried under the debris of the storm that wracked his body and mind.

 

“I do hope you enjoy your night.” Oswald moved along without a word more. Martin tailed along behind him, light lipped, eyes slicing into Ed’s skin like sharpened knives.

 

The ice age had come. Oswald let the frozen tundra bury his emotions far beneath the surface. But they lived on, thriving beneath layers of ice, pulsing with every crack in the frozen exterior.

Ed knew that he was not the only creature of habit.

 

The Penguin had regarded The Riddler's presence with such bitter nonchalance that Ed had  _almost_ been convinced.  _But-_

 

Oswald had let the fire in his eyes burn out to be reignited in Martin’s deep brown irises.

Those with no regrets don't tell tales,  _this Edward knew_. And Oswald had told a great many.

Martin had a plethora of Oswald's griefs swimming beneath his fiery eyes.

There comes a time in every child’s life where the torch is passed. Subtly and unceremoniously, they become the caretaker of their parent. Emotional support precedes physical support.

Ed supposed, in the end Oswald got what he wanted. Someone to love him unconditionally; just like he had loved his mother.

But that fleeting comfort could never be enough. It could calm Oswald’s nerves, fill him with joy, but never fill the void. The game was not over.

 

Their stars simply  _weren’t aligned tonight._

 

The knife in Oswald’s heart would twist. Sending him tumbling back to Ed, dripping blood in gold specks along the concrete.


	2. Chapter 2

_The stars glitter in his eyes._  He can taste them on his tongue.

Oswald looks down at him with soft eyes. Oswald looks down at him with smug sophistication. Oswald looks down at him with an imperious sneer. He is black and white, shades of gray, brilliant purple and all the colors in between.

The Oswald from the fading photo chided him. _‘Eddie you need to get some sleep. I worry for your health’_. The Oswald from the magazine clipping cackled. Teasing him with a flippant smirk. ‘ _Riddler you’re as trite as your name. Washed up. I heard half of the GCPD fell asleep during your last stunt. I’d say you are losing your touch, but you never really had it in the first place.’_ The Oswald staring at him from the black and white Arkham mugshot winks all too enticingly while an old newspaper clipping Oswald looks at him lovingly and whispers “ _My dearest friend…_ ”

All of the noise fills his brain, tangling more and more until his temples burn. It the midst of the pain, he’s grasped the article in his hands so firmly that it tore in two.

Panic races up his spine, bleeding into the rest of his being. Ed frantically lays the piece of paper out and carefully tapes it back into place. He feels a rush of relief when the headline ‘Mayor Cobblepot Visits Elementary Students’, falls back into alignment.

Oswald is around him, eyes watching, voice whispering, energy humming through the structure of the space, rattling in pieces of his life that Ed has stored away. He has so much but Ed wants more. Ed wants to peel away Oswald's skin and see what's underneath. Carve open his mind and dissect every thought.

_The stars fall to the ground._

He looks around. The pictures. The stories. The notes scribbled on cardboard coffee sleeves, napkins, and his own skin. The blood-stained knives. The impressions of fingerprints. Locks of hair. The scent of lilies that filled his senses until he suffocates.  _Oswald. Oswald. Oswald._  

He tosses the pile off of his desk, papers flying all over the uneven concrete floor.

 

Where had the last few weeks of his life went? Wasting away? Dwindling down into proverbial grave he had dug himself.  _The hellish abyss that was Oswald Cobblepot_.

Was it possible to hate someone  _so deeply_ , that they had sunken their pointed claws into your life? To hate someone so humorously that you enjoyed every moment of this tormented obsession? Ed laughed wildly. His vision fading in and out with the focus of his sleep deprived mind.

 

He could not help himself. Oswald was a plague. As many times as Ed had found in a cure by tumbling so deeply into his work that he had not capacity to think outside of it, the disease still lived on. Seeping into his blood every few months and burning up like a relentless fever.

 

But how could Ed resist?  _He is the Riddler after all_. And Oswald is a glorious puzzle just aching to be cracked.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Query and Echo stand by his sides, guns cocked, eyes alert. There will be no funny business tonight. Ed has calculated all the possible alternatives to the events of this evening. Charting the positions of the bodyguards and all of the exits in the vicinity. He takes no risk when collaborating. Brilliance runs a close line to insanity, someone once told him. But that someone has maggots crawling out of their eye sockets now. There was no such thing as over analysis.

He enters the underground room, dim lit with a few tables where unsavory poker games took place during the week.

 

Guns are pointed in all directions. That laugh,  _that unsettling laugh_ , rings in his ears from yards away. “Eddie boy, how marvelous to see you.” The Joker is wearing his trademark grin. Like a fish whose mouth has been slit at the corners, gaping and open. “Punctual as usual. Why kill time when you can make it work for you!” Gun waving carelessly in the air, the Joker laughs wildly at his own joke.

Ed’s lips twisted into a humored smile, a fine mask for his disgust. Some partnerships were a necessary evil. “I run but never walk. I have hands but no arms to see. And a face but do not talk. No eyes, though my name might disagree.” He pauses for effect. “A _watch_. I make sure that mine is always on point. I wouldn’t want to miss a beat.”

 

Harley Quinn and a few thugs linger around, armed and ready for any sort of altercation.

Edward had speculated all of those elements. He had run the scenario in his head over and over.

But had not prepared for one _radically unanticipated detail_. His mouth went dry for a moment, nerve endings buzzing with apprehension. This was a twist of fate indeed.

 

Oswald sat just several feet away from the cackling maniac, calm and aloof as ever. One leg crossed over the other. He sipped his Martini carelessly. Almost like he was attending a garden party rather than a high stakes exchange. His suavely dressed bodyguards were a stark contrast to the Joker’s hodgepodge brigade. Even their firearms were coordinated. Where Oswald was always one for detail, Joker had failed to provide Ed with some very important details. In particular, that this was a multifaceted exchange.

Their eyes met for a split second. Oswald raised a hand, wiggling just the tips of his fingers in a nonchalant, nearly teasing wave.

Tight lipped, Ed repressed an exasperated sneer.

 

Ed handed the armored briefcase over to the green haired psycho. “You even wrapped it up all pretty for me. How considerate.” Another shrill giggle ran through the small space as Joker took the briefcase and passed it to Harley Quinn sloppily. Not bothering to help her when she almost toppled over.

Edward suppressed a wince as thousands of dollars of high tech equipment nearly fell to the ground. He passed an envelope to the Joker. “This contains the code to open the briefcase. The smaller envelope inside has the codes that will allow you to access the various interfaces of the software.” He wasn’t sure how this idiot even intended to operate this system. But surely, he had someone on the job.

 

“How ever did you come by this?” Joker’s inquiry seemed to spur from genuine curiosity. 

 

Ed shrugged, arms crossed. “Top notch security, impenetrable safe, just my forte. I’m fond of a challenge.” He almost thought he saw Oswald smile, out of the corner of his eye.

 

“Hah! I knew I count on you.” Before the joker could grace them with another mindless joke, one of this less savory thugs whispered something into his ear. Joker’s wild smile twisted into a sneer.

 

Ed’s heart stuttered for a moment. His hand twitched, ready to reach for his gun.

 

“The future, past and present just walked into a bar. Things just got a little tense.” Another wild laugh tore through the air.

_Of fucking course._  Ed’s shed his tense stance, still aptly acute to his surroundings.

 

“Excuse me gentlemen,” Joker looked to him and then Oswald. “The last of my associates just decided to waltz in late. And a clock is not the only thing that ticks.” That eerie giggle floated about the room long after the footsteps had gone.

 

 

“We better get paid for this joint.” A hush whisper hummed behind him. In any other situation he would have lashed out at Echo’s childish complaint.

 

But his eyes were locked with Oswald’s.

 

Being taken off guard was not something that Edward handled well. His mind was an acute machine with a stable algorithm. He was not often wrong, and his intellectual ego did not leave room for mistakes.

_How could he have not taken this option to account?_ Whispered something lingering in the back of his mind.

_Joker was a wild card so there were a great many options that could not be taken in account._ Another voice whispered back.  _An immeasurable risk._

_There are an odd number of tables present. How unflattering._

_Who'd chosen the horrible color of this room?_

       _And were they drunk when they had done it?_

_Oswald had gained weight in the last few years._

_Roughly 15 pounds. Yet, he managed to look no less attractive._

“You can sit, you know.” A soothingly familiar voice breaks his train of thought. Oswald taps the seat beside him. “You, of all people, should know that I don't bite unless provoked.” Smugness was ever present in his crooked little smile. Yet his eyes seemed to sparkle with a bit of fondness. As if, he too, was relieved that they were here together. “Today is just business, as usual. No dramatic nonsense. You professional criminals have  _far too_   _much_  time on your hands." Soft chuckle floats from his lips like bubbles rising in the spring air. 

Ed had forgotten how delightful Oswald's laugh was, like nimble fingers gliding down the strings of a harp. It twisted around him, floating into his ears, sliding down his throat and catching in his voice box.

He decided to sit. Opting to ignore Query and Echo’s whines of boredom. “Professional Criminals?” Ed could not suppress a tiny smile. “If rigging the stock market and stealing four world renown paintings does not constitute a ‘professional criminal’, I’m not sure what does. Not to mention a complex innerweb of undocumented underground businesses.”

 

Oswald caught his bottom lip between his teeth, almost as if he was holding back an enamored smile. “Eleven years and you’re still my biggest fan.”

 

Ed scoffed, brows knitting in irritation. “Eleven years and you still take every opportunity to flatter yourself.”

“I don’t have to. You dug your own hole.” The sparkle in Oswald’s eyes burned out into a glowing ember.

 

“I have an eye for detail. It was impressive that you could leave a signature at every crime scene without providing a single shred of evidence toward your involvement. I have an admiration for tact, not  _you_  in particular.”

 

“Why, thank you.” Oswald rolled his eyes, voice dripping with sarcasm. There was a clear shift in the mood that resulted in several minutes of silence.

 

“So, you’re in on this.” Ed finally spoke. The lack of noise, eating at his skin like acid. It seared the ends of his nerves and burned holes deep in his stomach.

 

“ _Obviously_ ” Oswald extended his arm and waved his glass expectantly, not bothering to break his gaze with Ed to award any attention to the nervous server. He raised two fingers to the girl as she took the glass, a silent request. Perhaps the stress of business expansion had made the Penguin into a bit of an alcoholic. Ed wouldn’t rule it out. 

 

“Do you know what he plans to do with the merchandise?”

 

An amused little smile formed just in the corners of Oswald’s lips. “ _I don’t care_. Something about exposing the Batman’s identity. I’m sure we’ll see it on the News eventually.” He shrugged. “I’m surprised you didn’t ask. Staying out of people’s business was never your forte.”

 

Another soft laugh lights a strange warmth into the pit of his stomach, a little fire. He and Oswald had once sat in front of the fire for hours on end, telling stories. But that was another life.

 

“Says the man with the largest web of underground spies.” He raises a brow, a benign challenge.

 

“Business is business.” Oswald’s calm demeanor takes him to another time. Ed blinks, and for a second, the image that dances behind his eyelids is the living room of the Van Dahl Estate.

 

The girl places two martinis in front of Oswald. Ed is taken aback when one is slides in front of him by the gentle whisk of a freckled hand.

 

“We only live once, don’t be such a drag.” Oswald teases him. And suddenly they are both in their early thirties again, bright eyed and ready to take the world.

 

 

The sound of gunshots from the outside fades away to silence. The joker reemerges. One of his thugs thrusts a duffel bag full of cash into Ed’s hands. He unzips the bag and takes a general count. Ten, twenty, fifty...

The Joker, himself, hands over what seems to be a series of files to Oswald along with a small case. “We’ll be in touch Ozzie.”

“Of course.” Oswald nods nonchalantly and lights a cigarillo. 

 

“This isn’t what we agreed on.” Ed’s voice is dangerously calm.

 

“Excuse me?” The Joker’s eyes were dripping with venom, horrid smile still carved across his lips.

 

He was stopped by the slight pressure of Oswald’s hand on his chest. “Come on, Eddie. Have a little diplomacy.” 

Ed was about to snap. How dare someone tell him the price of his tact, his expertise. Genius was priceless.But he was caught in Oswald’s gaze, not smug and oppressive but soft,  _warning_. He knew that look. The little hearth of fire was lit again. 

 

And something inside the back of his mind pulled the strings to him limbs and his mouth, forcing his movements like a puppeteer.

 

“What I mean, I think I have a piece of information that could benefit you. Which I was not able to address when your other associate decided to arrive late to the party.” He handed a microchip over to the deranged clown. It stored nothing but backup files for the program. Not of much use, but good enough to pass as an act of good faith.

 

“Full of surprises aren’t you Nygma?” The Joker shook his hand, Cheshire grin rising to his ears. “For a minute I thought I was going to have to cut off that quick tongue of yours.”

Ed forced an amused laugh. His voice echoing the Joker’s ominous cackle. 

 

 

 

Outside of the building Oswald walked slowly by his side and whispered under his breath. “Don’t play games with the devil. You’re no Beatrice. And there is no heaven in Gotham.” It was true there was no pardon for sinners. And Edward could care less.

 

The night sky twinkles above them, winking mischievously with a thousand tiny little eyes. Oswald strolls ahead of him stopping for a brief second to turn back and glance his way. “I’ll see you at the dockside for the next rendezvous. Don’t look so surprised to see me next time.” Ed could have sworn he saw the slightest semblance of a smile.


	3. Chapter 3

A dim flickering light casts an eerie glow on the water. The last sliver of sun peeks over the horizon, taunting them as it fades into the night.

Ed waits impatiently, box in hand, anxious to complete the final part to this wretched deal.

Query taps her foot while she scans the premises for any incoming parties.

 

BANG.

 

An array of gunshots makes them scatter.

The sound of sirens cut through the air. There is a far-off glow of flickering lights; red, white and blue. Someone has been made. 

 

Ed dashes around a collection of large crates, making a break for it before things get too messy. His brain scrambles to pick up every detail of the environment. Strategizing the best way out of this chaos. A flare of ice that strikes a box beside him sends his nerves into overdrive. A cold rush comes over his whole body. He’s haunted by a ghost of a memory.

He can hear the joker’s crazed laugh amongst the gunshots, warding him down another path, along the water’s edge.

Echo rushes before him, rounding the corner, but Ed is yanked back, tumbling behind a moldy crate. He reaches for his gun instinctively, scrambling to draw it on his assailant.

 

He finds himself looking down the barrel of a gun, straight into stormy sea green eyes.

“

Don’t shoot, you idiot. You’ll draw attention.” Oswald chides him in a vicious hiss. His sleeves are rolled up and there is blood on his collar, but no evidence of any injuries.

 

Ed lowers the gun but does not draw it away. “I’ll back down if you will.”

 

“Hah, that’s the best one I’ve heard all day.” Oswald threw back bitterly. He looked over his shoulder quickly and then back at Ed.

 

“Yes, well, great to catch up with you Oswald. But if you don’t mind, I’ll be going.” Ed’s back hit the concrete again as he was roughly pushed down before he could stand.

 

“What the fuck are you doing?” He snarled, trying to compose himself as much as possible in this humiliating state.

 

“Lower your fucking voice,” Oswald whispered venomously. His eyes flitted about nervously. His knuckles whitened from the fierce grip on the gun. “There is a police blockade in that direction.” 

 

_Something wasn’t right here._

 

 There were too many parties involved for the nature of the agreement.If Oswald was just pushing paper, why was he here in the first place? 

A wave of realization washed over him, forcing his eyes open, filling his lungs with grimy water. Everyday 151,600 people die. 360,000 people are born. History repeats itself, however as frightening. No amount of resilience could stop this vicious cycle.

It all made sense in hindsight. Oswald’s disinterested glances, the mixed signals, the falsely affectionate small talk.

 

The temperatures of the Sahara Desert could rise above 110 degrees in the height of summer and drop below freezing in the dead of night. Such was the relationship between he and Oswald. And right now, Ed had never felt so cold.

Oh, he was a fool, a hopeless fool to think,  _to hope_ , that there would be a change. But he was a fool no more. The wool had been lifted.

        _This was a set up. A conspiracy._

 

Oswald Cobblepot was here to kill him.

 

 

“Then we should devise an exit strategy.” Ed lowers his gun just slightly in false assurance.

 

“You think I haven’t been trying-”

 

Oswald is yanked to the ground by a hand closing around his throat. His gun is knocked aside. The barrel of a gun is pressed to his temple. He claws desperately at hand squeezing his windpipe. “You psychopath. Unhand me! I should have expected this from you!” 

 

“No, I should have expected this from  _you_. Using this heist to lower me down here, calling the cops. Is Fries with you too? Hah! I give you credit for stringing me this far.” Ed squeezes tighter. “But Oswald, you’re getting sloppy. This little game of yours is over.”

 

Oswald eyes are glowing with the flames of a million suns. He’s seething. “You conceited motherfucker.” Oswald growls, voice cracking under the pressure, drool spilling from the corner of his lips as the breath is stolen from his lungs. “You need mental help.” Oswald screeches as a knee is roughly thrust into Ed’s groin, sending him toppling over.

Oswald scrambles to pick up the gun and aims at Ed as he slowly rises to his feet. Purple bruises bloomed on his neck like a mirabilis under the full moon.

 

Ed raises his hands, eyes searing with defiance, as Oswald walks toward him, gun in hand.

 

“I should have seen it then. All those years ago. Maybe I could have _helped_  you.” Oswald’s voice was laced with bitterness. The sea in his eyes tosses and turns with the roar of a great storm.

 

Salt water fills Ed’s mouth, washing over his tongue. Choking all of the sanity out of him.

“Help me? You destroyed me!” Ed raged. “You  _betrayed me_.”

 

“And you destroyed me in return! Don’t you get tired of this.  _This pathetic obsession_. This fruitless game. Don’t you get tired of wasting your energy. Chasing me. Ripping old bones from their grave. It’s been eleven years Ed. Get. over. it.”

 

“Chasing you?” He broke into a wild laugh. “I may have been the first one to shoot. I may have destroyed you but you and I both know you deserved that. And in the end, you are the one who brought me back here to freeze me.  _To please your ego_. As if I wasn’t even worthy of death. And here we are _again_ , Oswald, you with a gun to my chest.”

 

There was a click as gun hit the floor. Oswald came hurling at him. Fist colliding with Ed’s face with all the strength he could muster.

 

“Yes! I tried to kill you then! I wanted you to suffer, the way I did.” Oswald snarled as he pushed him roughly toward the end of the dock. “Feel your emotions being torn to shreds, to drown in the humiliation of being torn apart by someone who you trusted.” Oswald swung at him, knocking his glasses off. He reached out to grab him, missing his chance when Oswald ducked away.

 

Lack of clear sight and the presence of sound all around the left him dizzy.

The sound of sirens were getting closer.

 

Oswald looked over his shoulder quickly and then took Ed by the collar, landing a solid punch to his jaw.

 

“But I never wanted to kill you, harm you. Not really. I couldn't live with myself if I had.” The world was a blur. He was shoved forward again, heels meeting the end of the dock. He fought Oswald, nails digging into his shoulders. “I still couldn't.” He was yanked down forcefully by the collar of his shirt, lips colliding with Oswald's for a split second before he was tumbling over the edge of the dock.

 

Ed felt the force of a bullet move through Oswald's body as he came tumbling down after him, falling several feet away into the murky water of the lake. His mind scrambles to grasp what was happening and he sunk into the muddy green depths.

 

* * *

 

 

Ed crawled to the shore, dripping with filth and gasping for air.

 

He needed to rest, he needed food, new clothes and a shower. But the only thing running through his mind at the moment, over and over in a numbing loop, was,  _Oswald Cobblepot had saved his life._

 

Ed sat on the shore, letting the air fill his lungs. Allowing his body to rest for a moment. He was alone, but he wasn't alone. Drunk with emotion until his stomach turned and ached. Sitting beneath a field of tiny lights, winking and smirking at him. The stars carried him home that night.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ed's perspective on his relationship with Oswald is not the only one you should take with a grain of salt. ; ) #unreliable narrator

Oswald had not returned to work. He was not at the mansion or his vacation home by the shore. Ed had finally tracked him in a hospital just off the suburbs of Gotham. A quiet little place.

He hacked into the hospital database and read every file on Oswald, checking daily for updates. He steals the ID of some overworked nurse on the night shift, edits it effortlessly, and sneaks in once, twice,  _too many times_ ; lingering in the threshold of the door labeled “Cobblepot”. He watches Oswald sleep, listens to him breath. The slow soundtrack of solemn nostalgia.

 

Ed’s mind goes back to a small apartment, 805 Grundy. Where  _he_  had been the one to nurse Oswald back to health. He remembers the peaceful look on Oswald's face as he fell into a drug-induced slumber. The floodgates open and he is washed over with a tide of regret. There are so many things he should have done then,  _if he had found the courage_.

 

Oswald received an anonymous bouquet of lilies every day until his room had flourished into a garden of pink and white. The last bouquet has a single purple hyacinth. He knows who they're from.

 

Just a day after two weeks Ed sneaks into the hospital to find Oswald’s room empty.

He destroys the stolen hospital badge.

 

And world moved on with the same dizzying speed it that had before.

 

* * *

 

On slow days like this Oswald was not found in the lower level of the lounge, conversing with it’s many inhabitants. He was often locked away in a room reviewing paperwork or planning the budget. The perfect opportunity for a one-on-one encounter.

 

This was something celestial. A gravitational pull that brought Ed here. He couldn't resist, especially after the most recent events between Oswald and him. His mind had no say in the matter, his body moved on its own. A powerful Journey, to discover the meaning of all of this, this immutable connection between the two of them.

 

He felt the cold barrel of the gun against the back of his head, heard the haunting click and felt his lips curl into a wide Cheshire-like grin. Thus, the game began. Cat and mouse, wolf and rabbit. Who would reign victorious this round?

 

He expected to hear the cold sneer in Oswald's voice but there was nothing but an eerie silence.

The barrel of the gun moved slowly to his temple as the assailant circled around him. He was met with the chilling solemn eyes of, none other than, Martin Cobblepot.

 

How disturbing it was that he and Ed shared so many similar physical qualities; height, hair color, hair texture, eyes, high cheek bones. Ed had to blink to remind himself that it was not another facet of his own being ushering him to leave.

Tonight, he wasn't looking in a mirror.

 

A jerk of Martin's head toward the door was all he needed to know that he was strictly forbidden from the lounge. The boy drew his gun back slowly, still perfectly aimed in Ed’s direction as he watched his target walk carefully from out of the exit.

Ed’s eyes never broke contact with Martin, his own smoldering glare aiming straight for the boy's icy eyes. This was not over.

 

To Martin, Ed was toxic; second hand smoke seeping its way into Oswald's lungs with permanent damage.

Oswald had suffered the side effects of Edward Nygma for years. There was no healing if you ripped the wound open.

But Ed would not yield. The universe told no false tales. Fate was one constant in a life littered with inconsistency.

 

* * *

 

The sun goes up and down. Days fly in and out the door like birds dancing in the wind. Ed stays static.

 

He’s locked the photos away, the articles, the police sketches, the little trinkets that held droplets of memories and dreams from a better time. But he can’t lock away the voices, the images, the emotions searing through every inch of his body, ripping his mind to shreds with pointed teeth.

 

He needed to forget. He needed escape the prison of his mind. Hold Oswald down beneath the water until he dissolved away with the waves. Throw him deep into the sea like he did the first time. He feels a stirring in his stomach that  _must have been_  from the musty air of this gloomy safehouse.

 

Ed swipes his hands over his eyes and looks down at the blueprints in front of him. His scheme is almost complete. He has no time for wasteful distractions.

 

* * *

 

Euphoria rushes through his system, coursing to and fro with the dripping lights and winding world around him. There is no need to be gentle, but he wants to be. Something deep inside him craves it.

 

A lock of black hair falls out of place, falling haphazardly over closed eyes. Fingertips press aggressively into his shoulders.

 A rough twist causes his body to jerk and his hips to roll upward. 

A sharp gasp, a shrewd growl.

 

No. Oswald wouldn’t have sounded like that. He was graceful and fierce not wildly uncouth.

Ed feels a sickening twist in his chest.

 

_Not now. Not here._

_This was a Freudian slip. A disillusion of the mind._  He couldn’t help it that, through his blurred vision under the flickering lights and the influence of the Percocet flooding his bloodstream, Echo looked so much like Oswald. 

 

Were lust and hate so far on the spectrum that they could not be intermingled? There was bloodlust, angerlust. Maybe this was a bit of both, Ed thought to himself as Oswald's name tumbled from his lips.

 

When morning came there was an unspoken pact of silence. Echo was quite the valuable assassin after all. Ed would have found it mildly unfortunate to put a bullet in her head.

 

 

* * *

 

 

10 dead, and thousands of dollars in damage. If only Batman had solved the puzzle sooner. But  _c’est la vie_.

 

Edward laughed, adrenaline pumping through every inch of his body.

His laughter echoes on as he is strapped into a strait jacket and tossed into the back of a armored truck.

 

People will talk of this day for years.

 

Yet when the thrill runs out the stars above him look down on him with pity. Ed curses that sympathetic gaze. How dare they laugh in his face after such a staggering victory. How dare they climb into his chest and tear black holes into his soul, twisting, turning, with endless destruction. Withering until every ounce of light has been extinguished.

 

 

* * *

 

 

He wasted away in Arkham for months, watching the TV screen diligently for any instance of Oswald, scanning the pages of the newspaper, scribbling things onto his skin, napkins or any scrap he could get a hold of.

He kept them all inside his pillow case, tucked away. The most valuable ones were tucked in his pockets, hidden from wary eyes. They weren't allowed to have pens or pencils outside of the common room, which was maddening enough to make him want to carve the words into his skin with his blunt nails. He fought back the urge.

He would leave here soon enough. 

 

He dreams of Oswald every night, visions of him dancing beneath his eyelids, his voice ringing in his ears, his touch crawling beneath his skin.

Isabella comes to him in a dream, spilled over the steering wheel and dashboard of her mangled car, innards spilling from her body, eye sockets empty and festering.

He tries to wake himself with no avail, trapped in the walls if this horrible illusion.

 

The room goes black and he hears an eerie sound.

Drip, drip, drip.

It's Oswald, soaked in salt water, skin white and swollen. His eyes are dark he has no teeth. Suddenly a gaping hole blossoms from his chest, growing, eating him away slowly.

 

Ed wakes up in a cold sweat. He is not sure if he is in Arkham or if Arkham is in him. The black hole grows deeper.

 

He has to get out of this place, whatever it takes.


	5. Chapter 5

Arctic terns are nomadic animals. Moving from place to place without a solid home.

 

Ed travels by nightfall, moving discreetly from one grungy safe house to another, laying low until the commotion of his break out dies down. In a matter of weeks, the police will have another priority and his disappearance will slowly fade from view, falling into the polluted river like all the other muck of the world.

 

He doesn’t look for Oswald because he is a wanted man who doesn’t have time to waste on pet projects. His only job right now is to survive.

 

He doesn’t look for Oswald because to look into those stormy sea green eyes would be to admit that he was wrong.

 

He doesn’t look for Oswald because the game is over.

_The stars were wrong._

 

 

Arctic Terns are nomadic animals. Moving from place to place without a solid home. But regardless, they always return to one place every year, despite the distance. There is a small comfort in pattern, familiarity. 

 

The heavens open above him, millions of stars smiling down on him despite his bitterness toward them.

Ed places the lilies atop the grave.

                

               Gertrude Cobblepot. Beloved Mother.

 

He tips his hat to the gravestone and turns to leave, halting in almost instant, as if he’s seen a ghost.

 

Oswald stands just five feet away. The bouquet of flowers slips from his hands petals tumbling to the ground like a meteor shower. The waves move behind his widened eyes. The midsummer wind has taken his breath away.

 

The odds of this were so low. Oswald never comes here this late at night. Ed was familiar Oswald’s life pattern, now even more so than when he was his Chief of Staff. The odds of tonight were one out of a million. Just like Vega was one in a million stars, that happened to be shing just over Oswald’s head tonight. Their eyes locked.

 

Undeniably star crossed. _Fate was the only reasonable explanation._

 

 

“Do-Do you still come here, always?” Oswald asked tentatively as if he was afraid to know the answer.

 

“Yes, always.” Ed said softly, sounding almost defeated. “Some routines draw us back to the same place despite rationality; through comfort, through anxiety, through fear.”

 

Looking at the ground was belittling so he looked to the stars. “I don’t know what your intentions were at the dockside. But I know now, that my assumptions were wrong.”

 

Oswald doesn’t smile or sneer. His eyes are wide, sparkling with little flecks of light like the sky above. He looks almost innocent under the pale light of the moon. A vision through rose colored lenses.

 

“Thank you for the flowers. For a moment I thought you were trying to bury me alive.” A little smile surfaces from beneath the wreckage. “But comical revenge isn’t really your flare.”

 

Ed smiled. Incapable of doing much else at this moment. He was floating, weightless and unburdened. He knew that any moment he could wake up from this dream.

 

 

“Fifteen miles.”

 

“P-pardon?” Ed stuttered. Perhaps this was reality after all.

 

“Fifteen miles from here you found me in the woods.” And indescribable force kept their eyes locked together. “You carried me home.” Oswald stepped closer slowly, as if any sudden movements would scare Ed away. “You made me tea and injected me with prescription painkillers that you stole from a government facility.”

 

“Those were initially for research purposes-”

 

“Five months ago.” Oswald gazed at him curiously, sea green eyes reaching into the depths of Ed’s soul like they were his for the taking. “I thought it was a drug induced illusion, some twisted form of Deja vu, but you were there in the hospital.”

 

Ed shrugged. A storm building slowly beneath the calm exterior, tearing his gut apart, clawing at his insides. “I owed you. A life for a life.”

 

Oswald seemed a little disheartened. He nodded and forced a smile. “Honor among thieves, I suppose. I guess we’re equal now.” Oswald turns his back to him.

 

The storm inside rages into a hurricane. Rain falling in deadly shards.

 

“ _Oswald, wait_.”

 

Oswald turns again, the hopefulness in his eyes burns out with a dull fizz.

 

“Five years ago, in August, the original Dance at Le moulin de la Galette went missing. And in the same day a lady at the Musée d'Orsay reported that her watch was stolen by a magpie. That was the first time I had smiled in days.” Ed took faith that the darkness would hide the mirth in his eyes and the novelty of his smile. “When I sent you Renoir’s Les Parapluies, the recording device I planted in the frame was a hoax. I wasn’t trying actually trying to spy on you.” He played with the seam of his jacket nervously, eyes still drawn away from Oswald’s face. “I was thoroughly impressed with you work. I didn’t send you the painting because I wanted something from you.” Ed swallowed dryly and hushed the anxious voices in his head. “I sent it to you because  _you deserved it_.”

 

Oswald was frozen, like a marble statue in standing elegantly in the hall of the Louvre. His eyes were wide as if he had locked gaze with Medusa. When he finally spoke, his voice trickled slowly like the flow from a winding brook. “I-why are you telling me this?” A mere whisper, barely heard above the crickets’ nightly song.

 

Ed took a step closer, movements slow a fluid.  “You came to me once, six years ago, and asked for my technical expertise to track down a traitor. We made a pact to keep things civil between us, a truce. You were ready to move on, but I wasn't. I couldn’t keep that promise then, but I want to keep it now. Being the only sharp mind in Gotham is a lonely fate.” 

 

Oswald was a whirlwind of emotions, that left debris and wreckage in its wake. And in the aftermath of the hurricane life goes on. He picks up the pieces of his shattered heart, wind-torn soul and moves on. There is no choice or alternative, just survival. Time moves on slowly and quickly, all at once. And though all the structures are rebuilt, their facades shining in the height of their new-found glory, nothing can repair the damage that has been done.

He chews his lip and looks to ground, eyes shying away from Ed’s the moment the string of words have come to an end. He wants to be believe him, _he wants to so deeply_. The thrum of his heart beats in his ears and all of a sudden, the rhythm breaks.

Suddenly his head rises, eyes no longer a swirling green. The sea has frozen, leaving nothing but an icy sheen. “I’ll think about it.”

Oswald gathers himself and returns to the limo waiting in the distance.

 

Ed knows, like the stars do, that the ice will melt. It has every after winter before and it will after every winter to come.


	6. Chapter 6

 

“The first part of a debate is recognizing your partner as a viable and credible source. Which unfortunately is not applicable in this instance, and _I don't have time_ for nonsensical spin.”

 

“Nonsense?” Ed roars, holding back his laughter and almost spilling his grasshopper all over the carpeted floor. “Dora Maar au Chat is a masterpiece!”

 

“ _That disgrace_ isn’t worthy of hanging above my toilet!”

 

Ed howls in laughter, at the fierce adamancy in Oswald’s eyes. They were both a little dramatic when intoxicated.

 

“Hey, hey! Mind the carpet!” Oswald screeches, reaching to snatch the glass from Ed’s hand. He’s out of luck as Ed swallows the rest of the drink in one gulp. “One of your trailer trash girls, better be coming to pick you up. I’m not going to scrape you off of my office floor after you OD.”

 

“Oh, sorry that we don’t all employ _models_ that have _gone homicidal_. And tsk, tsk, I’m not that bad off. But the red in tip of your ears seem to say that you’re feeling a little tipsy.”

 

“ _Oh please_ , it’s just warm in here. I haven’t had anything but wine.” Oswald rolled his eyes and sipped from his fifth glass.

 

“Wine is still alcohol, Oswald.” Ed lays lax against the chair, guard down for the first time ever in this setting. He watches Oswald's movements fondly. Feeling the hearth of the fire back in the Van Dahl mansion just like he does in his dreams every night.

 

But they are here in Oswald’s office instead and that is a start.

 

“Is it? I can hardly tell anymore.” An amused little smile curls in the corner of Oswald’s lips.

 

 

A start to _what_ , Ed is not sure he can say. He misses worthy company. Nothing more, nothing less.

 

 

The both laugh, telling stories, sharing memories, debating over great works of art and literature until the morning sun whisks them away.

 

Oswald admires a little bird shaped jewel carefully before closing it away in a box. “Thank you. Without your insight on the security system, I wouldn't have been able to get my hands on this little lady.”

 

“It’s no trouble. Cracking security systems is one of my regular hobbies.” He shrugged and downed his third glass.

 

Oswald looks down at his watch and Ed puts all his effort into masking his disappointment.

 

“Your next appointment I presume.”

 

“Yes,” Oswald sighs more than speaks. “You won’t want to stick around for this one, believe me.”

 

 

For some inexplicable reason, Ed feels his stomach churn. It is as if a snake has coiled up inside of him. There is no reason for it. He and Oswald aren’t friends. No. Just friendly associates. Amicable business partners, if you will. And though it wasn’t nearly as thrilling as the chase, it was really quite enjoyable.

 

Ed was beginning to enjoy basking under the warm light of Oswald’s presence, a little sun peeking beneath the smoky clouds of Gotham’s gray skies.

 

But the sun would set eventually, melting into oranges, pinks, purples and blues as the moon whisked it away. And for the first time in a long time, Ed was yearning for the morning to come. Yearning for the brush of that warmth on his skin.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Step one. Step two. Side step. Turn.

The waltz continues. Classical music playing in the background. The taste of red wine sweet on Oswald's lips, coloring them with a rosy flush.

The violin solo mingles with the scream of Ed’s victim.

Slice one. Slice two. Stab. Turn.

 

Ed laughs with every stroke, specks of red forming constellations across his pressed white shirt.

 

Oswald eyes gazing upon him with such adoring fascinating. Smitten as the day Eurydice first laid eyes on Orpheus.

 

The music echoes into the night with the sound of their mirthful voices. Old memories hanging above their heads like a ghost in the dark.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Everyday passed with a such a stunning haze of euphoria that they must have been written in the page if some delightful comedy rather than scrounged from rubble in the battered streets of Gotham. We're sinners deserving of such grace? Could the stars be more kind than cruel?

 

It was the thirteenth time now that Ed had allowed himself to fall into a comprising state in the presence of Oswald. Liquor filling his blood and sending his mind into a rush.

They were one in the same, Oswald's lips on the rim of a glass as he moved his rook forward on the board.

Ed laid the field out in his head, determining his next move.

 

As his knight moves across the board, Oswald watches carefully. Ed tips his head up and gives Oswald a spirited smile, eyes enticing him to challenge the move.

 

It’s getting late but Ed doesn’t want to go home. He fights with the logical voice in his mind, like a stubborn child begging his mother to let him go to a sleepover. Oswald doesn’t seem to mind his company, seeing that he has not urged him to leave in the slightest.

 

“You have stocks in Metacorp do you not?” Ed asks casually as he eyes Oswald’s fingers moving across the board.

 

“Yes, why do you ask?” Oswald inquires, eyes still lingering over the black and white pieces laid out in front of him.

 

“I may have done a little digging,” Ed says slowly, “And uncovered that there has been quite a bit of internal embezzlement by a certain Mr. Fortunato and colleagues. More than a little hiccup in terms of profit.” 

 

Oswald’s brow crinkles. “That’s unfortunate.” He looks up at Ed curiously as if he is trying to solve a puzzle.

 

“Quite a punishable level of damage, honestly, And I hate to see a friend wronged.”

 

 “Mhmm,” Oswald’s hum held a bit of skepticism; his eyes still searching Ed’s face. “As much as I appreciate the sentiment, I know the Riddler has quite a reputation of underlying intentions. So tell me, Ed, _darling..._ ,”

 

The pet name (Which surely must have been more sarcastic than anything. Right?) sends a little buzz of energy through his spine. Ed isn’t sure if he should have enjoyed it as much as he did. But even he could admit that he was a glutton for attention.

 

“What is Mr. Fortunato to you?” Oswald looks at him with an all-knowing smirk while toying with the pawn in his hand.

 

“We may have had a past disagreement, but that’s barely relevant. I’m only looking out for the greater good here.” A little smirk danced in the corner of his lips.

 

A mirthful twinkle in Oswald’s eyes told him they were on the same page. “And what, per se, are you proposing to do, Mr. Riddler? Put him in some large-scale, deadly rat maze?” Oswald inquired with a clearly teasing tone.

 

“I was thinking something more your speed. While physical torture does have its perks sometimes it is just as amusing to unraveling someone’s life one thread at a time. Tearing apart their world until their only comfort is unrelenting madness.”

 

“ _I’m listening._ ”

 

“And to be honest, if their distress leads them do the job themselves there is less cleanup for you and me. And less evidence for the police to trace back to you and I. Humiliation and Depression are two culprits that you can’t put behind bars.”

 

Oswald’s chin was perched atop his hands now, arms propped up as his elbows rested on the table. His lips housed a delightfully wicked smirk. “I like the way you think. It often leaves me wondering what else goes on in that twisted mind of yours.” The smirk becomes an amused little smile in a heartbeat.

 

Ed feels unusually warm for a moment.

 

Oswald picks up his glass of wine once more, swirling the contents gently before taking a swift drink. “Well, you were correct to assume that I would not leave Mr. Fortunato and his associates unpunished. Especially because he is very aware of the influence of my shares in the growing success of the company. But I will admit, I would have not expected a subtle approach from you. High stakes games seem more of your bargain, Ed. And it’s not often that I see you drawing up a scheme that doesn’t have your name all over it.” Oswald quirks one perfectly groomed brow.  “I’m assuming you will need some of my resources.”

 

“Yes, you are the man with all of the connections. But all that aside, there is a bit of a different thrill in this type of game. And a chance to learn, from the master of manipulation. And if you can recall, I am a very good student.”

 

Oswald’s lips parted then closed again. He seemed a loss for words. And Ed knew that despite the four glasses of wine that were settling in his stomach, Oswald was still significantly coherent.

 

Maybe it was the sheer nostalgia of this moment that had him taken aback. The memories of them back in Ed’s old apartment; Oswald’s hand over his as he taught him how to hold a knife. Or maybe he was simply thinking over the details of the proposition. Ed would never know. All he could do was listen to the whispers in his mind of Oswald’s reassuring words all those years ago. The sound of their voices mingling as they sung Oswald’s mother’s lullaby together. The warmth of his touch. The scent of his skin. Were his memories even true to tale? Or had his mind altered them through the tests of time?

 

“Deal. We’ll discuss the details next week, when we have had significantly less glasses of wine.” Ed hears Oswald before he sees him. His mind is slowly falling back into focus. He looks at the man before him; older and wiser than the Oswald he once knew. Less reckless, more skeptical.

 

And Ed realizes that he is outside of the comfort of his dreams once again.

 

“Perfect. There are a few other candidates on my list I think you will approve of. And by the way, _checkmate_.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

There is an unsettling rattle of voices in the club. Unsettling to anyone else, but Ed likes noise. His mind is always chattering; sometimes about scientific facts or riddles, sometimes memories, sometimes snickers or cruel voices that a haunt him. But even still, it was so consistent that silence had become somewhat eerie even in its small doses.

 

What a delight tonight was! Ed just dodged a bloody fist fight between someone’s hired thugs. Smiling mirthfully as he watched Harley Quinn pummel some low life with her bat for getting too handsy.

 

An unrelenting pest by the name of “The Batman” had all of Gotham’s top criminals in a riot again, calling about but another conference. This one seeming a little more intriguing than the last. Especially since there were some juicy tidbits that had recently been revealed about the caped crusader.

And what could Ed say, he enjoyed taking part in events that had potential to feature him as the center of attention. Even if he had to be his own biggest fan.

 

But tonight, he wanted _a particular_ set of eyes on him.

 

He walked about the lounge in search of the host eventually finding Oswald seated at a table in the center of the club. But to Ed’s dismay, both seats beside Oswald were taken. One seat was occupied by Oswald’s spunky little heir, who for the first time ever, offered Ed a small smile and a curt nod. Despite the moths fluttering in his stomach, Ed willed himself to smile back. It was not Martin who had him distraught. In fact, the boy’s attempt at civility toward him was a small comfort in this time of unease.

 

It’s funny how the sun seems so close at night sometimes. When, in reality, it is 92.96 million miles far.

 

Ed watched the Joker lean over to whisper something into Oswald's ear and realized that the two of them were still light-years away.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“You know, you could fund various ventures with the proceeds from these stocks.” Ed scrolled through the information carelessly. His arm dangerously close to Oswald’s as they sit beside each other at the desk in Oswald’s study. As the moon rises in the sky the two of them are dwindling down from the high of mapping out their venture.

 

“Are you insane? I’m not going to spend Joker’s money. I have no interest in starting a war with the most unstable man in Gotham.”

 

“Your _friendship_ ,” Ed made an effort to emphasize the word very clearly. “if I should be so bold, is rather, _interesting_. He doesn't meet the criteria of your usual company.”

 

Oswald shrugged, sipping his wine slowly. “He is a useful ally and a dangerous enemy. It’s beneficial to me that he is rather fond of me. And to be honest, he is never a bore.”

 

Ed could not have predicted he would have been so wounded by Oswald lack of denial towards his claim.

 

Friends. They were friends. friendsfriendsfriendsfriends Oswald and the Joker were companions.

 

Did they have lunch together? Did they share stories? Glasses of wine? Did they laugh?

 

_Just how deep did this camaraderie run?_

 

Was the Joker even capable of maintaining a friendship? 

 

Apparently, there were things that even Ed did not have the answer to.

 

But he’d seen it. He’d heard the whispers. There was an odd air of respect that the Joker held for Oswald that he seldom held for anyone else _( Ed included )_. And for some aberrant reason, that respect was mutual.

 

During the eleven long years of he and Oswald’s feud, this abhorrent, outrageous friendship festered into a gaping wound into Ed’s chest. Was this imprudent maniac worthier of Oswald’s companionship than he?

 

_No._

 

The universe was on his side. Strong and compelling. Fierce and unstoppable.

 

_He and Oswald were star crossed. Equals. Two dazzling specks of light in a starless sky._

 

There were no others.

 

 

Just imposters and sirens’ songs.

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

The high ceiling opened above them like the heavens. There wasn’t a soul in sight. Oswald had bought out the museum for the night. Ed wasn’t really sure if the details of the arrangement were  _ strictly _ financial. And when he asked why, Oswald had only complained of his dislike for crowds. 

  
  


_ There they were _ , the bones of creatures that had lived way before humans had stepped foot on this earth. 

  
  


“Isn’t it fascinating?” Ed locked gaze with the skeleton of a torosaurus. “That there have been many mass extinctions through the millenniums? Some of which, where nearly all life was extinguished. They were all over a 100 million years apart.” He looked to Oswald to see him listening intently. The gears of his head were in motion as he mulled over the information. “Who is to say it won’t happen again?”

 

Oswald shrugs. “It may, but we will be nothing but bones and stories then.” His voice echoes through the vast hall of the museum as he walks to another exhibit.

 

Oswald gestures to call him over and Ed follows obediently. He watched Oswald tipped his head back to look up at a large wall decorated with the skeletons of sea creatures from before the jurassic period, his eyes sparking with wonder. 

 

“How magnificent,” Oswald muttered softly while drawing his eyes over each piece.

 

Ed let his gaze roam along Oswald’s profile and then to the skeletons on the wall. “ _ Yes _ ,  _ magnificent _ .”

 

“I never thought that they were this big.” Oswald said genuinely and finally looked to Ed.

 

“The ocean is a vast paradise.” Ed said to him, lost in Oswald’s eyes for a moment. Maybe they were more of an ocean than a sea. Endless and full of wonder.

 

_ “Paradise _ .” Oswald chortled. “More like a warzone. It’s much more vicious than Gotham. Not even you and I could survive in the ocean.” 

 

Ed let the thought sink into his head. It was a dangerous world, dark and unpredictable. But maybe even more so for someone who did not have something to live for.

 

He felt Oswald’s hand slide into his and he was torn from his thoughts. He could not suppress the unconscious jerk of his arm. 

 

“The museum is about to close, we should get going.” Oswald went to retreat his hand instead of tugging softly as he intended. 

 

Ed mentally scolded himself for the knee-jerk reaction. He found himself gripping Oswald’s hand lightly before it could fully retreat.

 

Oswald turned back to look at him, eyes searching his for some sort of answer. Ed dropped his hand unceremoniously. “Thank you. I must have lost track of time.” 

 

Oswald simply nodded, not hindered by the awkward little moment. “Come, we can have dinner at my house.

 

* * *

  
  
  


They walk side by side, the grooves of their knuckles nearly brush each other’s. Ed is overcome by a strong sensation, it is warm and soothing. He feels at peace.

 

Is this what it felt like to have a home? 

 

Lately, Ed finds himself looking toward the moon and wondering where he came from. 

 

Not from a mother.

 

Not from a father.

 

He was born from the pages of books, the answers to puzzles, the algorithmic flow of numbers on a page.

 

He had never had a home. Just places and spaces he had crafted with the tools of his mind and the thrum of his heart beat.

 

He had never had a home, but if he had, maybe it would have felt like this. 

 

A soft drizzle comes down, leaving a soft mist over Oswald's hair, raindrop constellations. Twisting and turning. Dripping from his lashes like shooting stars.

 

A few larger drops litter the sleeves of Ed’s jacket. One, two, three, and then a downpour.

 

Oswald takes his hand quickly and runs back toward the mansion. The two of them dodge puddles and rose bushes giggling like school children. Wet hair plastered to their heads, rain-slicked fingers still entwined. 

 

When they’ve finally reached the inside, Oswald’s hands rest atop the back of a chair as he slowly tries to catch his breath. 

It would help if the two of them could stop laughing. 

 

Ed feels Oswald's hands on him as he helps him remove his jacket.

 

“We didn't have to run, you know.” Ed says, a bit breathlessly still. He notices a drag in Oswald's step that was probably a result of unnecessary stress on his leg. 

 

“It's okay.” Oswald cooed in reassurance, picking up the concern in Ed’s voice. “I’m fine. I didn't want you to catch a cold.” He removed his own jacket and tossed it over the back of the chair with Ed’s.

 

“You could have caught a cold too.” Ed teased. He wasn't sure how he was supposed to feel about Oswald’s concern. But it felt good, warm, safe.

 

“Don't worry about me.” Oswald smiled mirthfully, a laugh trickling from the end of words. Much like a child chiding an overprotective mother.

 

Ed felt Oswald's hand on his again, leading him out of the kitchen. He repressed a jerk reaction, giving in to comforting warmth of the touch, and followed. 

 

“I’ve survived worse. I’ll be fine.” Oswald's tone was light and airy, a soft-hearted joke.

 

“So have I.” 

 

Oswald's eyes drew to the ground, falling into a haze of remorse as the corners of his lips turned down. “I know,” he whispered and released Ed’s hand slowly. 

 

His didn't speak but his eyes said  _ ‘I’m sorry.’ _

 

Ed nodded solemnly, something twisting in his gut. He had expected his response to fall into a slow trickle of mirthful conversation.

 

_ Not this. _

 

The two of them were doing so well the last few months. He craved that surge of warmth he felt in Oswald's presence. And feared the foreboding shadow in his mind that told him that it could all unravel so soon. 

 

“Come on, let's get you out of these wet clothes.” Oswald gave him a tentative smile. Still testing the waters. “I still have a few of your clothes from when you used to live here. And I’m sure they will still fit.”

 

Ed didn't have to force a smile. The warmth from the pit of his belly had risen to his cheeks. “Thank you,” was all that he could manage.

 

Oswald seemed relieved. His smile returning, content twinkling in his sea green eyes. He ushered Ed upstairs, a foreign place that Ed had been to a long time ago.

 

It was a whimsical thought, too otherworldly to be be a reality, that Oswald may have kept his clothes after all of this time. One that made Ed’s heart throb with merriment. 

 

_ Was this what home felt like? _ He wasn't one to know.

  
  
  
  


The warm glow of the fire warmed their skin. Ed’s hair was nearly dry now. 

 

Oswald was so close to him he could almost feel the soft heat radiating from his body.

 

This felt so familiar. A mirror image, flipped and rearranged. But this time it was he who was in a suit. His old suit.  _ A suit laden with memories from years past. _ And Oswald in a robe and house clothes. 

 

“Do you want more tea?” Oswald asked, nudging him gently to draw his eyes away from the fire.

 

Ed looked down at the empty mug he’d been cradling close for warmth. “No, but thank you.” 

 

“Are you hungry?” Oswald asked a bit eagerly. “I know it's a little past dinner time. And we haven't eaten since before we went to the museum.”

 

“Honestly, I’m starving.” He placed the mug aside to admire the warm glow of Oswald's face under the orange glow of the firelight.

 

“Good.” Oswald's face lit up suddenly. “Because dinner is ready.” 

 

He followed Oswald into kitchen to find a large banquet style meal laid out. Something far too elaborate for just a day at the museum. Ed was a loss of words. His mind worked rapidly. Was Oswald trying to butter him up? Was he going to ask him for a favor?

 

“I hope you like it.  _ I made it _ . Well, some of it. Half of it-  _ Okay, maybe like one fourth _ . The first few tries came out horrible. You know, I have never really cooked anything outside of my mother's recipes that were primarily Eastern European...” 

 

“You made this?” Ed interrupted Oswald's, ramble, finally finding his voice. He looked around the table in awe at all of the tantalizing dishes.

 

“Yes, well… I started to before we met for the museum. The noodles came out very well. But the rice,  _ god, it was terrible _ . So, I let kitchen staff take over from there.”

 

“You made me Chinese food?” Ed looked Oswald straight in the eyes, still taken aback the the dedication he had put into the gesture. 

 

“Yes, I thought it would be fitting. It just reminded me of…  _ You know what, never mind _ .” Oswald sighed, looking away awkwardly. He seemed more disheartened than anything.

 

Ed was worried that he said something wrong. He scrambled his tangled mind to find a satisfying answer.

“Thank you,” was all he could resolve to. It was barely a whisper. Something inside of him begged him to reach out and touch Oswald's face, but he pushed it back into the depths of his mind. 

 

Oswald's smile resurfaced. 

 

“But what is the occasion?” Ed gazed into Oswald's warm eyes curiously, begging for an honest answer.

 

“Oh, I had figured that you had forgotten.” Oswald smiles only seemed to grow. He pulled a chair out for Ed like a true gentleman. 

 

“Happy Birthday.”

 

_ Oh. It was April first wasn't it?  _

  
  


Had time flew by so quickly? Had they been on the lighter side of each other's company for so long? Maybe that's why Ed had managed to sleep lately.

  
  
  
  


Their plates were empty and their bellies full. Ed wasn't sure if the warm sensation spreading through his body was from from statiation or content. 

 

“It's late. I guess we spent much longer at the museum than we’d planned.” Oswald gracefully placed his silverware aside for the maid to take.

 

“I don't regret it. I had a great time. Thank you, for all of this.” Ed placed his own silverware aside and cast a small smile to Oswald. No one had ever done anything this kind for him. How terribly pathetic, eleven years of loneliness.

 

“You don't have to thank me. I think it's something very customary of friends,  _ to celebrate birthdays _ .” A playful touch skirted around the edges of Oswald tone, that soft smile still glowing from his lips.

“But really I wanted do  _ something _ , at least.”

 

Friends, perhaps that is what they were. Maybe more. Ed had thought it had all been cordial, functional, intellectual. He had tried to pass them off as friendly acquaintances, amicable business partners. Because that was logical, after all that had happened to them and all the time between them. 

 

_ But fate wasn't logical.  _

 

This was far more delicate, tender, intimate.

 

Something he never thought he needed at this heightened point in his life. 

 

“I am truly grateful.”

 

Oswald’s genial smile was so familiar. A fond memory from a better time.

 

“You can stay, if you want.” He offered a bit shyly. “You can sleep in your old room.”

 

Ed wanted to. He wanted to so badly. But he was flying too close to the sun. 

 

“I should get back. I have a few things to work on. And besides, none of your pajamas are going to fit me.”

 

“ _ Actually… _ ” Oswald chewed his lip a little, deciding whether or not to proceed. “I still have those too.”

 

“You-” his words were interrupted by a soft chuckle. “You still have my pajamas? God Oswald, you're a mess!” his smile grew slowly, from a waxing moon to a full moon, shining brightly in the night sky.

 

“ _ Slander! _ I just didn't have time to drop them off at the homeless shelter!”

 

The kitchen was alive with soft melody of their laughter, whispers, stories; fading into the night with sleepy smiles and hushed good nights.

  
  
  


If this is what home felt like. Ed never wanted to leave.

 

* * *

 

 

“I really don't think you want to go in there-” Ed pushed past the the frantic secretary and strolled toward Oswald's office. 

 

He didn't bother to knock. The two of them were beyond that. He turned the handled. Locked. 

 

That was but a minor setback for Edward Nygma, the infamous master if conundrums. Picking a lock was like solving a puzzle. You just needed focus. 

 

He heard and irritated growl of “go away” from the other side of the door. If anything, it just made him more eager. 

 

The lock was undone and the door pushed aside to reveal a disgruntled Oswald, a hand on his temple while the other clutched what seemed to be a glass of gin and tonic.

 

“I said  _ go away _ \- Oh, Ed. Come in” The angered growl twisted into a surprised murmur. Oswald beckoned him forward.  “Close the door. Do you want a drink?” He placed his own glass atop the desk and rose to fix Ed a glass.

 

“Ah well…” The glass was thrust into his hand before he could finish.” Ed sipped the concoction slowly. 12pm was a little early, but Oswald didn't seem to be in a mood to be challenged. 

 

“Please sit.” Oswald waved a hand to one of the chairs placed beside his desk.

 

Ed obeyed, lounging carelessly as if it was his own office. “Thank you. I came by to have lunch but we can reschedule if you have more pressing matters.”

 

“Ah- yes.” Oswald seemed a little less tense. His brow furrowed and a looked up from his glass. His irritated gaze melted into an apologetic stare. “Sorry, something came up and I forgot.”

 

Ed nodded slowly. He wasn’t offended by the little mistake. Whatever the matter was, it seemed to be pressing. “No worries. What has you so frazzled? Did one of your staff members insult a high-end client?”

 

Oswald's face rested in his palms for a moment. He dropped his hands and took a quick drink, downing the entire contents of the glass. “That would be a minor issue in comparison.” He slammed the glass against the table. “I’ve been robbed! $300,000 in merchandise!” Oswald hissed, grinding his teeth together unconsciously. “It happened en route but I have intel that the operation may have started before the product left the warehouse. There is a  _ rat _ amongst my associates.” His voice a low growl as his knuckles whitened around the empty glass. “And I don't take kindly to traitors.”

 

Ed had to exert a lot of effort to mask his smile. Oh was this juicy. _What fun_. “Well, it looks like I may have stumbled in at _just_ _the_ _right time_. I think you might need my help.” He pointed in Oswald's direction, allowing a playful little smile to linger on his lips. “You know I have a knack for solving puzzles, I could find your rat in no time.” _Oh he would. And Oswald would adore him for days._

 

Ed rose to fix Oswald another drink. He took the empty glass from his hand and placed the full on in its place. He could see Oswald visibly unwind and for some reason there was a fluttering sensation in his stomach.

 

“Ed, thank you.” Oswald took the drink gingerly, the creases fading from his forehead as he softened his expression. “You are a true friend. But, I could not ask that of you.”

 

Ed resumed his seat beside Oswald's desk, face lighting up in delight, lazy grin gracing his lips. “Come on Ozzie, don't be stubborn. I love solving a good puzzle. It will be fun for me.” 

 

Oswald sighed, letting the stress circle out of his system. A tiny smile finally made its way to his lips. “If you insist. That would be very useful. At least let me pay you for your services.”

 

Ed shook his head. “No need.” He waved a hand to emphasize his point. “It's a favor, for a friend.” 

 

“I wouldn't want to take advantage-”

 

Ed stood and leaned close to place a hand on Oswald's shoulder. He looked him straight in the eyes, gaze soft and reassuring. “Oswald please. I want to do this.” He patted his shoulder gently. He could have sworn that a bit of color had risen to Oswald's cheeks. “ _ For you _ .”

 

Oswald stared at him for a minute, pupils moving slowly, searching the depths of Ed’s eyes. “Thank you,” he whispered finally, placing his hand atop the one Ed had placed on his shoulder. “I can't tell you how much appreciate it.” 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a rollercoaster. But it ends well.  
> _________________________________________

_Have you ever heard the story of the boy who cried wolf?_

_Who told lies just to jest._

_He thought he was oh so clever._

_But being truthful would have done him better._

_So, he met his shameful defeat._

_Between the wolf’s pointed teeth._

 

“I don’t know how to thank you, Ed.” Oswald placed a hand over their interlocked hands; making their simple handshake suddenly more intimate.

 

“I told you, Oswald. It was a favor, for a friend.” A small smile lingered on Ed’s lips. Oswald’s warm smile, the sparkle of admiration, adoration was more than enough thanks. And of course, the merit of their partnership. Even if no favors were promised, Oswald would remember this. If anything, he was a criminal with a code. Even if it was formulated by his own rules.

 

“Nonsense, I owe you. If it was not for you, I doubt this dilemma would have been resolved as swiftly and efficiently. If you ever need something from me, I am willing to assist.” Oswald carefully released his hands. His bright smile was ever present.

 

The warmth that radiated from Oswald’s eyes warmed Ed’s body like a little sun. There was something in his eyes that was deeper than admiration. Something that Ed thinks he may have saw before, a long time ago.

 

“I can’t believe those idiots thought that they could make a fool of me!” Oswald growled under his breath. “They will be made an example of, that is for certain.”

 

The wicked gleam in Oswald’s eyes made Ed’s insides coil in delight. He remembered the first time they’d held a knife to a man’s throat, _together_. Mr. Leonard, you poor, unfortunate fool.

 

“The Royal Flush gang was such a tarnish to your good name. They were not worthy allies of such an eloquent powerful man.” Ed twirled his wrist slowly, emphasizing his point. Oswald seemed to drink in every word with confidence.

 

“Perhaps this little mishap was heaven sent.” Ed shrugged and plucked a bottle of wine from Oswald’s wine rack, uncorking gracefully and plucking two glasses from the bar.

 

“I have never been very fond of those rascals.” Oswald sneered. “They had their use initially. Functional lowlings. Perhaps continual business with them was too lenient of me.” He accepted the glass from Ed, allowing his friend to pour him a healthy dose of red wine.

 

Ed rose his glass in the air. “Cheers to cutting ties with unworthy allies.”

 

There was a soft clink when their glasses met. “Cheers, indeed.”

 

* * *

 

 

Oswald had such an elegant silhouette. Through the years, even with the imbalance of his leg, Oswald had always managed to stand tall and proud. Wrought with confidence and class. He was a man who bowed to no one. A man to be admired.

 

And admire Ed did. His eyes followed the lines of Oswald’s shape in the reflection in the full length mirror. He caught himself cataloging every detail of Oswald’s being. Every curve and angle. Every crease and freckle.

 

“What do you think? Mauve or Purple?” Oswald held both ties close to his collar, his eyes locked on his own reflection in the mirror.

 

“You have always looked good in purple.” Ed took both ties from Oswald’s hands gently and held them up to admire the contrast to his shirt and his skin, which had taken a soft flush.

Was he alarmed by their proximity? They had done this a fair many times, back in the Van Dahl mansion, many moons ago.

 

Could history repeat itself? _That was a terrifying thought._

 

Oswald swallowed, his eyes following Ed’s as they roamed over the two ties, observing the colors, textures, the slope of Oswald’s neck. “Hmm.”

 

Edward had had dreams of wrapping his hands around that beautiful neck. Gently, not aggressively. Feeling the steady beat of a lively pulse rather than the coldness of fading color. He wasn’t sure what it meant. Those images. Those feelings. He wasn’t sure that he wanted to know. He had once found power in all knowledge. But there was a difference between making advancements and opening Pandora’s box. Some things should stay buried.

 

“I’d have to say purple.” Ed finally drew his hands away.

 

The inkling of anxiety seemed to dissipate.

 

“I’d have to agree.” Oswald smiled weakly. The color was slowly fading from his face. “Thank you.”

 

“My pleasure.” A strange sense of satisfaction settled in his stomach, staying with him for the rest of the afternoon.

 

* * *

 

The sun came up and down. The leaves were changing colors now.

 

Days had gone by since their little outing and Ed had not heard from Oswald once.

 

The King of Gotham was a busy man. Attending meetings, hosting dinners, keeping your associates in line, punishing poor performance and keeping a grip of a variety of underground businesses did not allow for a lot of free time.

 

But still, it was quite unsatisfying to be ignored for such a lengthy period of time, even if it was not Oswald’s intention. Ed decided to take matters into his own hands.

 

One steady rap at the door and he was met with a calm beckoning.

“Come in.”

 

Ed turned the handle slowly, finding his comrade’s eyes glued to a document as he scribbled away.

 

Oswald rose his head momentarily. “Oh, hello.”

 

That was far from the enthusiastic greeting Ed was expecting. In fact, there seemed to be a shortness in Oswald’s voice.

 

His eyes fell back to the page a mere second later as he continued to scribble viciously, not bothering to pay Ed another glance.

 

“Ozzie, overworking is taxing on the mind and body. You need to learn to take a break from time to time.” Ed tried, a gentle attempt to coax Oswald away from his work.

 

“Hmm” Oswald grunted in his direction, his hand still moving furiously across the page.

 

“I think this Chambord will help get your mind off of those troubling, tedious tasks.” Ed offered himself the seat across from Oswald, peeking over the documents nosily.

 

“I am not in the mood.” Oswald snapped.

 

Ed drew his brows together. This was getting a bit tiring. “What has you so high strung?”

 

Oswald still did not bother to lift his eyes from the page before him. “Oh nothing too pressing. It’s just, that dealing with unworthy associates gets tiring after time.” He hissed between his teeth.

 

“Yes, they were a bit of a nuisance. But, Ozzie, you gained a majority of your merchandise back and you made it quite impossible for those imbeciles to cross you again.” Ed assured him. “You can’t let this one incident deter your outlook, especially in your position.”

 

Oswald finally drew his eyes up and flashed Ed an agitated smile. Behind his eyes were a dancing flame, suppressed anger, held back by but a few screws before the damn busted.

 

“Funny thing about those imbeciles. It has recently been brought to my attention that during their operation my security cameras and security system were intercepted. Which seems a little out of their talent range. Don’t you think?” Oswald spoke calmly while the flames behind his eyes began to rise like a roaring sun.

 

Ed shrugged, leaning back idly. “People can often surprise you. Harley Quinn has multiple PhD’s. But I doubt anyone would have surmised that if they judge her book by the cover.”

 

Oswald’s forced smile widened. “People do surprise you Ed.” He folded one hand over the other gracefully. “I was _quite surprised_ , actually.” Oswald’s calm tone did not waver. “When I was beating one of those idiots senseless and he confessed that the passcode to the interface was a riddle.”

 

Ed’s face went white.

 

Oswald slammed his hands on his desk, causing various ornaments to vibrate from the force. “What is this?” Oswald screamed, eyes wide with the ferocity of a raging storm. A climbing forest fire. “What's your scheme here? Coming in here and getting closer to me so you can unravel me, destroy me, take everything I have?” Oswald stood swiftly, curling his fists tightly on top of his desk.

 

“Oswald no. That was in no way my intention.” Ed rose from his chair. 

 

“What was not your intention? To use me? To betray me?” Oswald roared, moving forward with a heavy step.

 

Ed stepped backward with each advance. “It was not a betrayal! It was for your benefit. Those menaces were deterring you, Oswald. I made you stronger.” Ed cried, desperation crawling into his voice.

 

“You devious liar! You can’t talk your way out of this!” Oswald shrieked as he moved closer, fist shaking in the air as his rage rose to his face in a brilliant flush.

 

“Certain ties needed to be cut in order for you to prosper,” Ed pressed gently. He rose his hands in defense, moving them in a slow calming motion to emphasize his words.

 

“That was not your decision to make! Who I employ is my decision and my decision alone.” Oswald shrieked. “Don’t try to use this poor excuse for a “favor” to cover up your true intentions. You’re a vengeful demon. _You can’t let this rest_.”

 

Ed took another step back. His anxiety rose as he realized that he was close to cornered. “No! Oswald, this was not a power play! This was not a vengeful pursuit. I did this for you. There were conflicting structural-“

 

Oswald’s fist slammed against the end table beside him, causing the vase atop it and other glass ornaments to vibrate with a soft clinking. “Oh yes, please use smaller words for me, Mr. Nygma.” Oswald snarls, voice sharp like a switchblade.

 

The crash of a vase against the wall rings in Ed’s ears. Flower petals scatter across the floor. A mosaic of emotions. “My mother spent over 10 years in debt for me to get an education. I didn’t have a fucking scholarship.”

 

 

Ed just nearly avoided the assault, stepping back carefully in attempt to avoid the scattered shards of glass. “Oswald, I am not trying to belittle you.” His eyes were pleading. “I am trying to explain.”

 

‘I don’t want to hear it!” Oswald growled low, finally halting his advance. Oswald screeched at the top of his lungs, “I don’t know what I expected from you! You’re a pathetic excuse for a man. A man who kills everything he loves. A man who can’t stop himself from burning all his bridges. All of that intelligence is wasted on someone who’s only companions are two greedy women he hired when he was morbidly depressed.”

 

Ed wanted to curled into himself, feeling his insides shrivel.

 

That was the advantage of familiarity, the ability to wound someone so deeply, to carve scars into their psyche.

 

“So, keep your hired hussies” Oswald said spitefully. “Ed. I. am. done.”

 

“Oswald please.” Ed felt a familiar burning sensation in the corner of his eyes.

 

_“Get out_!”

 

 

The ferocity of Oswald’s voice rings in Ed’s ears hours after he is gone.

 

* * *

 

Edward Nygma committed crimes of intellect, not passion. It was an academic challenge that drove him, not the fierce pull of emotion.

Yet, today he could not fight the gravitational pull. The violent tremor that ran through his body, a coursing rush of emotion that drags him back to the Iceberg Lounge again.

He refused to go down without a fight.

Ed’s jaw tenses. His teeth are clenched.

 

How dare Oswald back out on him after weeks of collaborating. After the dual glory of all of their recent heists. The academic challenge.

_All of the time they had shared together, all of the nights they’d basked beneath the moonlight side by side, the old memories that had risen from their graves to warm the hearts of two kindred souls torn apart by the devil's games._ But most of all, the principal of it all.

 

This was not Oswald Cobblepot. This was a pathetic shell of a man that wouldn't even bother looking him in the eye.

The fire in Ed’s chest rages on, unbeknownst to its source or meaning. Rising higher and higher.

 

Until Oswald’s eyes rise from the page they had been set on, deep sorrowful wells of green that wash away the flames like a waterfall.

 

Oswald smiles, a sad smile. “It’s killing you, isn't it? Watching me, analyzing me, trying to figure out what I want. When, all I really want is nothing. Nothing to do with you.” He laughed, bitter and pained.

“Maybe what you should be looking for is what _you_ really want.”

 

All the flames fall to ash in Ed’s mouth. He leaves without another word. Oswald’s words echoing in the hollow part of his chest where his heart once was.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Ed charts the stars from the day he and Oswald first met, to the second time, and all the times after that. He traces the latitudes and longitudes, measures the difference in between. He adds them, rearranges them and does it all again. He makes a constellation of thumbtacks across his collage of photos, articles and collector's items and correlates the numbers between them all. He writes and writes until all of his pens are empty and his mind is spinning with words and numbers.

 

Days have gone by and all the dots are connected in a tangled nebulous web.

 

_And suddenly,_

 

Ed comes to a horrifying realization; a sick anomaly of sorts.

 

_He is in love with Oswald Cobblepot._

 

And most likely has been for a long time...

 

He chokes, clawing at his throat haphazardly, fighting back a wretched sob. His throat closes and beads of liquid form in the corners of his eyes, free falling like raindrops.

 

He is torn apart and put back together again and again, searching to understand the science of it.

He writes equations on the walls, psychological theory, ideologies composed by great philosophers. But it is beyond the thresholds of logic.

 

_This tortuous star crossed phenomenon._

 

Oh, how the universe was cruel.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The winding winds had settled. Tossing memories, feelings here and there in a dizzying spiral, a vicious tornado.

Ed had laid there for hours. Days? Weeks?

 

His safe house was a mess of crumpled papers, broken objects, all the debris that the tornado of his mind had tossed around.

 

All of the emotions in his chest had erupted, pouring onto his face, staining his cheeks.

 

He knew now, more than any time before, that fate had driven him. From the first day they met, 13 years ago in the GCPD. Fate had taken them down this long and twisting path, sheltered them, tested them, brought them back together so many times.

 

He had to find Oswald. He had to make this right.

 

* * *

 

 

After many unsuccessful attempts to enter the Iceberg Lounge there was only one alternative.

 

This place that housed more memories than Ed could fathom. Ghosts of feelings past.

Memories that he couldn’t shake if he tried. Was he in love then too? When he was here, living under Oswald’s roof.

 

Maybe he was too blind to see it then. Too captivated by the green light at the end of the bay.

 

But he was here now.

 

The knob of the door turned slowly. A million spiders crawling along the inside of Ed’s stomach. He rested his hand atop the gun in his waistband. This was the moment of truth.

 

When the door glided open he came face to face with a bewildered Oswald. Wide-eyed, as if Elijah Cobblepot had risen from his grave again.

 

Oswald reached for his gun.

 

Ed rose his hands quickly. “Oswald, I am just here too talk.” He spoke quickly before Oswald had a chance to call out.

 

“Likely story!” Oswald growled as he wrapped his hand around the handle of his gun. “For the man who broke into my house!” He hissed viciously. His eyes were locked on Ed, watching his every moved.

 

Ed’s hands remained raised he spoke calmly and clearly, not wishing to startle the other man. “Oswald, I am honestly here to talk. _To apologize_.” He had to fight the sting of those words.

 

Oswald’s eyes narrowed. His fingers were still tightly wound around the handle of the gun. But his shoulders fell slightly. “I’m not going to fall into your trap again.”

 

“It’s not a trap. I promise.” Ed pleaded.

 

“What good will those words do me?” There was a slight tentativeness in Oswald’s sharp voice.

 

“You were right.” Ed admitted. His shoulders slumped with a long exhale. “I needed to figure out what it was that I wanted. I didn’t know then. But I do know.” Ed’s voice was gentle, bleeding sincerity. His eyes entreating desperately. His usually confident stance deflated.

 

Oswald released the handle of the gun and crossed his arms. His guard was still strung as high as a castle wall. But he seemed willing to hear Ed out, despite his cynicism.

“I sincerely doubt that.” He rolled his eyes and went to pour himself a glass of bourbon. “I’m sure I’m going to need this.”

 

Ed released a shaky breath and tried to concentrate on something other that Oswald’s fierce green eyes. “I know that we both had our misconceptions and…I’m sorry. I…” Ed searched his mind for the words he wanted to say.

 

Oswald tapped his foot impatiently after the long minute of silence. “Well?”  
  


Ed looked up at him, gentle eyes colliding with Oswald’s searing glare. “At the dockside, ten months ago when we were working with the Joker.” Oswald tore his eyes away in less that a second, leaving Ed feeling cold and empty. “You didn't have to present your asset in person. All of that could have been done remotely. But you came.”

 

Oswald didn't spare him a glance. He looked down at his glass, to the floor. Everywhere but Ed. “Your point?” He hissed snidely, washing down the brute of his emotions with the stinging liquid in the glass.

 

Ed looked at him, desperately, hoping that the intensity of his stare would bring Oswald's eyes forth. Like some invisible magnet. The same unearthly force that brought him here, time and again.

“You knew that the job was compromised, didn't you?” Ed swiped his hands over his face, brows furrowed in frustration. “I miscalculated. I was so distracted. I missed so many details.” _Distracted by the burden of emotion. Distracted by the idea of you_. “You came there to save me.”

 

Oswald's eyes narrowed. His gaze wandered to a darkened window. It was far too cloudy to see the stars tonight. “Ed, why are you here?” Oswald's eyes were locked on the window, denying Ed the comfort of familiarity. Even the biting cold glance that Ed had become accustomed to in the last few weeks would have been more reassuring than this harrow silence. Cold empty eyes, looking deep into space.

 

A tremor that ran through Oswald's hand, while he lifted the glass of bourbon to his lips, signaled that he was just as anxious.

 

“You still love me after all this time.” Ed asked tentatively.

 

The echo of shattering glass was the only sound in the room.

 

Oswald looked at Ed, despite his better judgement. Eyes wide like a deer trapped in headlights before the shattering crash.

 

“How? After all of this time. The things that have happened between us. The things I have done to you since then.” Ed’s voice a somber whisper.

 

Oswald's eyes, wide as the sun, burned with an insatiable heat. “It's not my choice!” Ed felt himself burning up in Oswald's atmosphere. Unable to look away from that searing gaze, he almost felt his pupils burn up in their wake.

 

“Do you think that I would not escape the clutches of this menacing hell if I could?” Oswald threw his hands up in defeat, a deep pained look lingering in his eyes.

“Escape you! Following me, haunting me, making me pay for my mistake over and over until I’m nothing but an empty corpse.”

 

“That's not what I want!” Ed cried frantically.

 

“Then what do you want?” Oswald hissed back. Eyes still burning with the force of a supernova.

 

Ed stepped backward, his hands in his hair as he tried to collect his thoughts against the overpowering sound of his beating heart. “I thought I wanted a challenge, a rival, a match!” He tried to pull his tangled mind apart. “But what I wanted was my friend. I missed you, us, how we were before. I wanted you to change.”

 

Oswald’s frustration did not seem to subside. “I did change! Haven’t I proved that? When I forfeited this feud between us? When I vanquished my desire to kill you? All those times I took risks for you!” He threw his hands up dramatically.

“I regretted my selfishness, Ed. I knew that it was too late. My love was lost to you. So, I tried to be cordial with you, five years ago, I tried to work with you. To regain even a fraction of what we had. Because I had never had a better friend than you. But, you wouldn't have it. And now, I don't know how I could have been so foolish. To believe that you wanted to be my friend, after all of your wicked games.” Oswald spat, sneering, bristling like a cat with its back arched.

 

“No Oswald-” Ed tried to cut in. A rising fear surfacing in his eyes.

 

“You didn't want a friend, Ed-” Oswald interrupted before he could finish. “You wanted a puppet.” Oswald moved forward, finger jabbing into Ed’s chest.

 

Even while towering over him, Ed could feel the weight of Oswald’s energy weighing him down. Crushing him. Five foot six with an aura stronger than the gravitational pull, that was Oswald Cobblepot.

 

“I’m not a formula!” Oswald cried, his voice breaking at the end. Pain, sadness, desperation. A whirlwind of all three vibrating through his vocal cords. “You can’t change me, disassemble me, rewrite me until I am exactly what you want!”

 

“Oswald, I don’t want to change you.” Ed cried urgently, listening to his own voice echo through the room. “I did once. You hurt me. You took advantage of me. I thought I would never forgive you.” He heard the tremble in his voice and felt shame crawl up the sides of his gut into his esophagus. How could he be so weak in such a pivotal moment. “When you said you loved me I didn’t believe you.”  

 

Oswald’s eyes soften just a fraction. “I regret hurting you. You know that. If I could go back in time I would fix it, I swear to you. But I can’t.” Oswald looked away from him, his voice softer now. “After you shot me, I was overcome with rage. _I loved you_.” There was a heavy weight of buried emotions that seeped from his tone. Freshly dug from their tireless grave.

 

“I trusted you and you tried to kill me. It was stark, simple, a survival instinct. I had been surviving for so long, that was something I knew how to do.” He glanced in Ed’s direction for a long sober minute.

“But love, I hadn’t been loved, nor had I loved anyone but my mother. I didn't know how to love you, Ed. I had to learn. And when I tried to prove to you that I could love you, you didn't want to see it. So, I let you go. Now, let me go!”

  
“No!” Ed raised his voice for the first time since they had fallen back apart. “I can’t, I don’t want to.” He reaches out and grasps Oswald tightly to pull him in but he is roughly shoved back, falling backward and sliding down against the wall.

Ed squints his eyes to ward back his tears. What a mess he has made. Had they fallen too far to climb out of the hole?

“Oswald, I need you,” Ed murmurs, his voice laden with despair.  


Oswald falls beside him, a wretched sob torn from his throat. He weeps. “I could bury you myself a million times.” He screeches, tears running down his cheeks like starfall in an empty sky. “Chain you down. Pebble by pebble.” Until there is nothing but silence. The bones placed carefully in place. “But you would always come back to haunt me! You are the ghost that never ceases!” All the lights of the carnival go out. There is nothing but darkness and the graves of the dead

 

Ed isn't sure if this is reality or a horrible nightmare. After the pain and the anguish, after the storm and the trail of broken things that had followed, he hadn't wanted all if it to come to this.

 

“Do you think I want this?” Ed cried, his voice cracking under the weight of the pain in his chest, his tears finally breaking free of their prison. “This unrelenting desire for your validation? This humiliating itch, where every time I manage to break away from you, I come crawling back!”

 

He wanted Oswald's laugh, his touch, his soft loving gaze in the morning when they woke, the idle chatter in the evening when they were about to fall asleep. He wanted the rush, the excitement of working together, the academic thrill of a heated debate, the comfort of having someone who understood you, and all of the little mundane things that came with.  

 

“I think of you all of the time. I dream of you at night. You are in the back of my mind, my conscience, my every breath. And the worst part is, I don't want it to stop.” He grasped Oswald’s upper arms, fingers digging into the fabric of his suit as he forced him to peer deep into his sorrowful eyes.

 

“You are my only true rival,” Ed’s voice was but a broken whisper. “My intellectual companion, my most worthy business partner, but none of that matters more than the fact that you were the only person I've ever been comfortable around. The only person that's truly made me feel safe.” His eyes searched Oswald’s green irises desperately.

 

“You build me up, you bring me to my knees, you make me feel. And I don't want to give that up. I can't.” Ed wept, all of his pent up emotions spilling from his chest like a broken damn. Flooding them until both their heads were under water.

 

His hand was on Oswald’s cheek as he watched wide green eyes gaze back at him, just as desperately. “What I want is you, and all that comes with that,” the words fell softly from Ed’s lips before his brain could catch up.

 

“Why should I believe that. _How can I_? How can I believe you?” Oswald’s eyes are searching his, a deep quest into the galaxy of Ed’s tangled mind. Reaching to grasp any sort of veracity in the skies of ambiguity.

 

“I can't ask you to believe you. But I can beg you to try.” Ed’s eyes pleaded. _Lady universe please be kind. Grant me this one second chance. Wash away my careless sins._

 

Oswald looks at him as if he is the only thing in the world. Eyes wavering, hands shaking slightly. Dreadfully uncertain, like a child who has lost his mother.

And Ed feels the fear seep from Oswald’s soul to his. Where were they all this time? Wandering hopelessly alone in the dark, looking for something to grasp onto.

 

_You can rebuild a city after the storm but you can’t wash away the scars that cut deep into the land, the heart, the soul._

_All you can do is wait. Nurture them slowly, until those scars are only stories. Memories from a time past._

 

“I feel like we’ve been here before,” Oswald murmured. “In another life.”

 

Oswald looks up at him now, lip trembling. Fists clenched so tight that the blunt ends of his nails leave little crescents in his palms. There are stars tangled in his lashes, tumbling down his cheeks. Ed catches one in his hands and never let's go.

 

And suddenly his eyes burn with a fierce intensity, an unyielding power. The flame is lit. This is the Oswald Ed knows. The one he wants to love.

 

“Edward Nygma, you beautiful mess. Don't make me regret this. Because if you cross me, take me apart, leave me to die. Have no doubt, I will find you, living or dead. And I’ll bring karma like the devil.”

 

Edward takes Oswald’s wrist in his. A static electricity runs through the Earth, that only lovers feel. The world opens up in colors like a kaleidoscope. And Oswald knows that there is no other love for him. Unparalleled, led by the hands of the heavens themselves. _Star-crossed._

 

Ed smiles. He can feel the warmth of Oswald's fiery eyes, but this time he does not feel fear or rage, just a soft glowing sense of content.

 

“I would never. I meant what I said and I hope you are well aware that I hold you to the same conditions…” Before he can finish a pair of warm lips are pressed to his, soft a pliant.

 

Oswald kisses him and everything stops. The world resets. Ed’s third eye opens. He can see anew. The kaleidoscope turns and the sunset on the horizon is not an end, but a new beginning.

 

He melts into Oswald’s embrace, placing his hand on his hips to draw him in closer. Their lips move slowly, a tender and graceful dance.

 

And here he is, falling in love the way he wished he had the first time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now I can finally say hello to falling action. (Falling in love action )

**Author's Note:**

> Coined by William Shakespeare, [“Star-crossed lovers”](http://www.dictionary.com/browse/star-crossed-lovers) refers to any lovers whose affection for each other is doomed to end in tragedy.
> 
> Shout out to Nova & Planet Earth, for my inspiration.
> 
>  
> 
> In this future fic I infused some qualities of the Riddler & Penguin from the batman comics. For example, The Penguin being a brilliant thief and master criminal. He would pull elaborate heists and was so talented at covering his tracks that, even though the style of the heist made it evident that it was him there was no actual evidence. I did a bit of this for Ed also.


End file.
